


His Eyes Were, His Eyes Are

by marrieddorks



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Episode: s02e22 All Hell Breaks Loose, M/M, POV Dean Winchester, Poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-05
Updated: 2016-01-05
Packaged: 2018-05-11 21:08:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5642062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marrieddorks/pseuds/marrieddorks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A poem about Sam's eyes throughout these ages - 4, 8, 15, 18, 22, and 23.  Dean POV.</p>
            </blockquote>





	His Eyes Were, His Eyes Are

**Author's Note:**

> I've been having a lot of season 2 feelings.

        He was four years old and his eyes were bright.  
Innocence                                                   kept them that way.  
                the very thing you lost at his age  
Your name - his favorite to say - left his mouth in squeaky syllables  
          And he couldn’t even tie his shoes.  
                           You would’ve given anything to keep him like that.

He was eight years old and his eyes were scared.  
It had to happen eventually, him finding that the monsters  
Weren’t just the looks you both got from men at motels, but you had hoped you could have saved him.  
Saved him from knowledge, from taking a bite from the apple on the tree,  
     Because then maybe he could have saved the both of you.  
          Instead you just hoped he could now save himself.

He was fifteen years old and his eyes were red.  
Anger boiled underneath miles of golden skin stretched over a lanky body,  
       A body you couldn’t keep your eyes off of.  
Being peacemaker was hard  
     Especially when you loved both,  
          But were terrified of getting your dirtybadwrong hands on one.

He was eighteen years old and his eyes were nowhere to be seen.  
One day there, the next day gone - taking your heart out of your chest  
And dragging it behind a Greyhound Bus to the beer and sand streets of Palo Alto.  
You couldn’t breathe anymore, your nose clogged with the stench  
  Of stale smoke, cheap perfume, moldy bathrooms, cheap perfume, sour beer, and cheap perfume.  
                                                                          Sometimes the stars mocked you with his very eyes.

He was twenty-two years old and his eyes were focused.  
It was a focus that scared you though.  
It was the same look he had when he jumped off the shed trying to fly or left (left you) for Stanford.  
It was dark and laced with fire and I-should-have-known tears.  
It was ticking, not boiling over, which meant it would eventually explode.  
                                                    At least you’d be there to shield his beautiful body with your own.

He is twenty-three years old and his eyes are lifeless.  
You watched the very last of that four year old brightness disappear in them.  
     You held his broken and bloody and I’ll-fix-this body to your own as it happened.  
          You carried his corpse to a stained mattress - just like the ones you imagined him on -  
                                         And confessed to him the sins he’d surely hate you for  
                                                 And now it doesn’t really matter anymore that the world is ending.


End file.
